We Are Glass
by Shimmertail
Summary: A series on mostly-unrelated oneshots set in the TC'verse. All due credit for characters goes to their creators
1. Chapter 1: Tacenda

_**Tacenda:**_

_(n.) things better left unsaid, matters to be passed over in silence_

He doesn't know that she's here. If he had known the truth before she left, she wouldn't have made it two steps outside of the barn before being dragged back. Lying isn't an easy thing for her, no trifling matter, but it had been important to tell him that she was visiting family. She hadn't liked it, but it was necessary.

After all, what is this entire mission of hers but one lie after the other?

Twolegplace is cold at night, and it surprises her that the city that had once been so familiar to her is foreign now, only leaving her with a powerful longing for the rolling hills that surround her barn. The she-cat is wary as she pads down streets she hasn't laid a paw on since her father's death. Her unsheathed claws click against the dark, rough stone, and she lifts her head high as other cats pass. She knows what they see, is all-too aware of it: a lone she-cat walking the streets at dusk, a little feline lacking the hardness life in Twolegplace brings to a cat's eyes.

It is only when they meet her eyes do they see the cool, fierce light that lingers like madness in her gaze, just daring someone to approach, the subtlely dangerous look of one who has fought her way to the top by tooth and claw alone. Below her manic glare, her expression is stone.

No one approaches this cold young thing as she slinks down alleyways long abandoned by the Twoleg denizens of their city, and so she walks on.

When she finally finds the nest she seeks, the small she-cat cannot help feeling impressed. It would take a cat of great power to secure one such as this for himself. It towers over the other Twoleg nests of the city, rising higher, higher, higher, taller than most of the trees at Griffin Hill. Glancing around, wary eyes spying the sentries lurking in the shadows, the she-cat hesitates for a moment before padding inside.

They descend almost immediately, huge brutes that seem faceless in the dusk, almost as large as Shackle and his brothers. One steps ahead of the others, glaring down at her with narrowed amber eyes. "State your name and purpose here, she-cat."

She feels her heartbeat quicken, although her expression remains one of cool disinterest. _Let's play pretend,_ _shall we? _She can almost hear her mother crooning the words to her when she had been but a kit. What was it like, to stand as Fetter had stood once he had healed? Effortless, subtle menace that can be glimpsed in every gesture, an easy ferocity that slips into each word, a contempuous look that measures, weighs, and finds its object of attention wanting.

_Yes, that's it._

"I have business with your master," the she-cat replies archly, raising a withering eyebrow at the larger feline, "and my name is Sabine." The name of her father's first mate, long before Sita had ever appeared. A young queen who had, in the end, martyred herself for love. How very fitting indeed.

The tom bristles, just the slightest ruffling of his hackles, before he nods grudgingly. "Follow me," the gruff voice orders, and the she-cat does as she is told, head held high and proud as she dares any of them to challenge her place there.

If Twolegplace is cold at night, then this place is colder still. Shadows cloak the structure's walls as she follows the three hulking felines. The wind's soughing rings in her ears like the lamenting of wandering spirits, and the she-cat idly wonders if she will join them by the night's end.

They lead her to a back room nearly hidden by old boxes and other Twoleg waste left behind. She neatly slips between two large crates and blinks as she steps into a room even darker than the front of the nest, pupils swelling to round, dark moons as they adjust.

"Wait here," one of them says, a different one, this voice higher with a scratchy rasp to it like claws over stone. "If Castion wishes to speak with you, he will approach. If not, you will be escorted out." It is painfully obvious by the tom's tone which option he prefers, but how can she blame him? She wasn't herself now; no, she was a cat she would dislike immensely, proud and pretentious, throwing her weight around just because she can.

"Very well," she drawls, irritation evident, and the tom disappears into the shadows just beyond.

There is a pause, and two dark masses emergy. "And what do I owe to this pleasure?" a new voice asks, and the she-cat feels her skin crawl as he steps close enough for her to get a proper look at him.

She has not expected for the executioner of so many to look quite this pleasant. He is completely ordinary, with plain tabby fur that is, perhaps, graying around the edges, and the kind of clever green eyes she associates with trickers in stories.

_Proud won't work with this one, no. It would only irritate him, inflame the temper that had sent so many cats to their graves. Think meek, small, unassuming..._

A silver tabby pelt flashes before her eyes, and she dips her head respectfully to the tom. Perfect. "The pleasure is all mine, sir," she mews, voice soft as the look in her liquid green eyes.

He laughs, a smile curling over his muzzle, and suddenly the she-cat understands where the killer hides. His smile brought the demons out to play in his eyes, an enthusiastic, dangerous kind of sanity gleaming there. It is one thing to fear the cat who has no mind to guide him, but quite another to fear the one who does.

"Charming, Miss Sabine. Now, why is it that a young she-cat such as yourself would call upon me at an hour like this?" The devils dance playfully in his green gaze, boring into her face with intense interest, and she draws a deep, steadying breath before looking up to meet them.

"I've come here seeking your help," she murmurs, expression suitably timid. A small tremor runs through her slender frame, and she is not sure if it is only acting. "My family...my family is starving. There's not enough food for everyone, and it's only getting worse as the season goes on." She pauses, expression turning frantic.

_They're usually willing to help, at a price._

Yes, Stone had taught her more than she likes to admit.

"In return...I offer myself." She rushes on, paying no mind to the surprised expression that flickers over his face lightning-fast before being replaced with that detached sort of amusement.

"You rule a large kingdom, sir, one that stretches from one end of Twolegplace to the other. And a large kingdom needs heirs. My mother is from old blood, old city blood that still holds status. I'm young, and I can give you the kits you need."

There is a moment of silence, and laughter trickles through the air. It's a pleasant sound, just as pleasant as everything else about the large tom's exterior. "You," he says, grinning at her as the evil in his eyes sparks and gleams, "are an extremely clever cat, Miss Sabine, very clever indeed."

"Thank you, sir," she mumbles, although she takes a tiny step closer, wanting to hear his verdict on the matter.

Silence hangs in the dark, and unbearable, deafening quiet that seems to sap the life from the room. Feeling almost compelled to do so, she holds her breath and counts the heartbeats that pass the time.

_One._

_Two._

_Thr-_

"I accept your offer, Miss. Guards, you may leave us for the evening."

Just as quietly as they had appeared when she had first entered the nest, the three cats ghost out, leaving her alone in the shadows with Castion and his wolf's eyes.

Fur brushes against hers, and the air around her is suddenly filled with the scent of him, and she shivers, no longer playing a part. Haughty, dangerous Fetter is gone, meek Mackerel disappearing like smoke on the breeze. All that is left is Alifair, hiding within herself until it is over.

* * *

They lay together in the darkness once it is over and done with, those green eyes half-lidded in silent contentment as he brushes his muzzle over his new mate's. "You'll give me strong kits," he murmurs in her ear, his mind caught somewhere between sleep and waking. He thinks he sees her smile.

When Alifair cuts his throat as he drifts off to sleep before padding out of this cold, shadowy city, she does not feel a thing.

* * *

They are a silent pair, her and her huge protector. Quiet is comfort for them, an escape from the chaos of their lives in the barn. He does not ask what truly happened in the city when she returns home, her eyes bloodshot and her claws flecked russet.

Yes, they are a quiet pair, and when she silently curls up beside during those long, cold nights, knowing that he is safe from all that would harm him, Alifair knows that it was worth it.


	2. Chapter 2: Saudade

**My first oneshot for the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge on TacoClan. Dedicated to Prin Pardus. Merry Christmas, and I hope that you enjoy it!**

_**Saudade:**_

_(Portuguese, n.) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and lost; "the love that remains"_

He had left the world just as he had entered it: quietly, with no fanfare or frills, just the softest whispers of first and last breaths signifying the change. Lightningstripe had always been a quiet tom, and death didn't change a thing.

The tom didn't often speak about his past, not out of shame or grief, but because there was hardly anything to speak about. He had been one of a seven-kit litter, neither oldest nor youngest, neither smallest nor largest, lacking a striking white pelt like Petal's or eyes that were as brilliant as Mari's. He had simply been a shy, obedient child, hardly anything out of the ordinary.

"It was hardly anything special," he had told Morninglight when she had asked after his past one morning as they curled up close in the autumn chill, the first and only time she had ever broached the topic. "Nothing interesting, love. But what about you?" A smile had lit up those radiant features, and as she began describing her childhood home down to the tiniest of details, he had listened.

He had always been good at listening.

Lightningstripe was well aware of the way that some of the Clan raised eyebrows and lowered voices when he strolled past, knew plenty about Morninglight's past transgressions. They wondered how he, a tom barely noticed, a cat known only for his utter banality, had caught her attention, let alone held it. Most agreed that it was a good thing that the golden she-cat had found a mate, however odd the match was, and that she was quite lucky to have him.

What they hadn't understood, and probably never would, was that he was the lucky one. Whatever she'd done in the past had never mattered to him. She was perfect, better than anything he could have ever imagined, and he didn't deserve him by any means. She deserved so much more, and he had spent his entire life trying to make that up to her.

For all of Morninglight's love of dramatics, theirs had never been an ostentatious love, full of ferocious passions and destructive affections. No, they had found a quiet, comfortable love in each other, just a simple click of two pieces perfectly suited to each other finally being put together. If some love was fiery, tempestuous, then theirs was dawn's gentle light gleaming on the horizon, a simple realization of, _oh, that's what has been missing for all this time._

He had left the world just as he had entered it: meek and humble, hardly a creature of great pride or esteem. Lightningstripe had always tried his best to be kind and respectful to others; the golden tom had never had a desire to be great, except perhaps in Morninglight's eyes, but to just do the best he could.

It had confused him, at first, when Flaresky returned to camp. "You know," the ginger tom had said, "if you come with me, you'll look like your old self again." He glanced at Lightningstripe, and the dead cat understood. He still looked as he had when he had died, thin as the reeds that flanked the riverbanks, with tired amber eyes set deep in the hollows of his bony face.

"You know I can't do that, Flaresky."

"Still sticking by your decision?"

"There was never a choice in it."

Flaresky had sighed, expression resigned. "I figured that you would say that. Anyway, I didn't come here on my account." The bright-pelted warrior stepped to the side. "Lightningstripe, I don't believe that you've met Duskcloud."

The name had sounded familiar, but it only registered when the she-cat materialized before them, and it had taken the golden tom a moment to catch his breath when he first caught a glimpse of her. Duskcloud. Smokefrost's mate. The she-cat was beautiful as all StarClan cats were, all of them brought back the the height of their lives with stars in their pelts and light in their eyes, but she had something special about her. There was a soft warmth in her expression, a gentle kindness to her face that had concern inscribed into every line. _She looks like she was born to be someone's mother_, he had thought, dipping his head in respect. "It's an honor to meet you," he had murmured.

She had smiled at that and, to his surprise, had dipped her head in return. "The honor is all mine, Lightningstripe. I've heard a lot about you."

"You have?" he had asked, raising his eyebrows. _Why?_

"Of course," she had replied, emerald-green eyes glimmering with twinkling stars. "All of us have. StarClan's never really seen anything like you before, Lightningstripe. You're the tom that chose to wait."

And so they began to come, some in groups or pairs while others visited alone. There were those fairly new to the ranks of the stars, cats that he could call by name when they arrived. Just as often, there were those who had long since faded from living memory, except perhaps in the occasional bedtime story, spirits that had faded to little more than faintly-shimmering shadows and voices like the wind's soft murmuring. They wanted to speak with him, to congratulate him, as if he'd done something extraordinary.

Lightningstripe had been leery of it, at first. He hadn't done anything, just what he'd had to. It had only make sense when a new cat approached him. She was old, her dark pelt grayed, and her face one that had aged gracefully. Her amber eyes had glimmered as she'd walked right up to him and licked his cheek. "It's nice to finally meet you, Lightningstripe," she mewed. His voice was soft but strong, never wavering. "We've all heard so much about you, and I'd like to thank you for what you're doing. We're all proud."

"But why _me_?" he had whispered, surprised by her sudden touch. He didn't know this she-cat, not even her name. "What did I do? Why is everyone coming here? I don't...I just don't _understand._"

She purred quietly, amber eyes glittering. "Because they're all jealous of you, boy," she replied softly. "You did something everyone else was afraid to do, or never thought of doing. You're the first to ever wait, the first that any of us can ever remember." The old she-cat sighed, glancing across the snowy camp. "I had children when I died, two daughters and three sons. I only birthed one of them, but I loved them all enough to make them mine. I thought about staying, to make sure they were alright, stayed out of trouble, but I was scared. Now, only two of them are left down here, and they've got children and grandchildren of their own. And, I suppose, I'm still scared. That's why I'm proud of you."

"But I wasn't trying to be brave," he replied incredulously, even as he had begun to understand. "I was just doing what was right by her. I didn't know that it was brave."

She had smiled. "I know. That's why I thanked you."

Still, there were others who questioned him relentlessly. The tom that appeared early one leafbare morning was young and angry, resentment burning off his pelt like a fever. "How can you just wait for her here all that time? You don't know when she'll die. It could be seasons before she does. What are you going to do until then? What are you going to do if she moves on, or forgets about you?" Something had flashed in his amber eyes, anger and hurt and, yes, there was the jealousy the old queen had talked about.

Lightninstripe had been watching Morninglight pad out of the medicine cat den when the young StarClanner had spoken. "Congratulations," one of the passing cats murmured to her, and the golden she-cat nodded, glancing down at her still-flat belly.

"What are you going to do?"

The golden tom hadn't meant to snap at him, and he had regretted it later. "Do you see that sun?" he had asked, quiet tone almost a growl as he flicked his tail up towards the sky. "It's _everything_. Without it, these cats would be frozen. They can't control what it does, or where it moves. All they can do is just wait and keep warm. That sun's going to set soon, I know, but it'll rise sooner or later." He had taken a deep breath, continuing in a quieter tone. "Yes, it's going to be dark for a while, and cold, but I know my sun's going to come back up sooner or later. And until then, I'll wait as long as it takes for that sunrise."

* * *

He has never been in the nursery for long; the golden tom had been born outside of the Clan, and he had never had friends nor sisters to visit there, only stopping by occasionally to drop off pieces of prey when one of the queens was unable to come get it themselves, or it was too cold. This is new territory for him altogether, so he steps lightly.

There's a special warmth to it, he thinks, despite the frigid weather outside. Perhaps it's the lack of holes in the den walls, every inch of it patched up, or all of the sleeping bodies curled up together, radiating heat as they huddle together in nests of mountain heather and the softest grass the apprentices can find. He believes that it's the love. It sounds silly, Lightningstripe knows, but so much of that pure, unadulterated love that comes between parent and child has to account for something.

It is late at night, far too late for anyone to be awake except for the few cats holding vigil and the new medicine cat, who keeps unusual hours. The kits and their mother are fast asleep, the gentle moonlight that streams in through the den entrance turning their gilded pelts to silver. He touches his muzzle to the top of Morninglight's head, licking her cheek before moving and nuzzling each of the kits. He knows that they can't feel it.

The small tom had become a father today, and he can't even touch his children.

They're all perfect, just as beautiful as their mother, with the same bright pelts and white paws that she has. He can even see a little of himself in them, the little she-kit's longer fur and one of the tom's small size.

"Hello, little ones," he whispers. It's not as if any of them can hear him, but it seems right to whisper in this place of warmth and rest, already a home in the way that the other freshly-dug dens just quite aren't. "I'm Lightningstripe. I'm your Papa." He hasn't spoken that name since he was nearly twelve moons old, the last time he had seen his own Papa, but it feels right on his tongue.

"StarClan above, you're all so pretty. Bright as stars, just like I knew you would be. You all take more after your mother than me. Trust me, that's a good thing." He allows himself a small, lopsided smile, and he settles down beside them.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be here to see you in this morning. I'm sorry that I won't get to meet you, or teach you how to hunt and play, or scold you when you run off and give your mother fits. I'm sorry for a lot of things, but don't you think for a second that I don't love you, okay? Not even for a second. I've loved all three of you since long before you were born, and I always will. I'll be watching over you every minute, promise."

He nods to the queen curled around them, snoring quietly like she had always denied she did and he had found precious. "That's your Mama, you know. Morninglight. She's a very special lady, you know, and that's why I need you to do me a favor." Lightningstripe's eyes were solemn and sad as he peered down at the kits, serious to the core. "She's wonderful. She's sweet, and funny, and kind. She's the most beautiful she-cat in the whole wide world, Lightkit, just like you. But...she needs someone to look after her, and I need you to do that for me." He can't do it anymore, can't protect her like someone on her side of StarClan can. He'll never leave her—not until the sun stops rising and the stars fall down—but he can't do it alone.

"She's wonderful, your Mama is, but she needs somebody to take care of her. I c-can't do it, not anymore, so I'm leaving it up to you three." His eyes lit up with a smile, although his expression remained soft and sad. "Make her smile and keep her warm. Tell her I love you every chance you get, and that she's prettier than the stars in the sky. Keep her safe, and..." He trails off, quiet for a moment before speaking in a voice even softer than before. "And if she finds another tom that makes her smile, that's just fine. Just make sure she's happy, and that he treats her right. She's worth it."

He nuzzles them all again, a quiet purr emanating from his throat as he licks them and Morninglight one last time, one by one. "I'll be here if you need me," Lightningstripe murmurs, and he pads out, not a single cat stirring in his wake.

This new camp is still unfamiliar to him, but he finds a place all the same, sitting down at the entrance with his back to the rest of the dens, as if he's keeping a vigil over his Clan. Idly, he glanced up at the stars. It won't be a long time until Morninglight meets him here, he hopes, hopes harder than anything. And when she finally does, what can he swear to? Perhaps they'll wait for their children, or their grandchildren after that. That is far and farther still from now, and he settles down, making himself comfortable.

He's just waiting on the sun, and until it rises, his heaven is right here.


	3. Chapter 3

The world is dark, and cold. She is dying.

There is nothing he can do. His paws are like stone, the only thing anchoring him to the ground as she bleeds out before him. Shackle has tried to make him go outside, just to let him calm down, but no hysteria overwhelms him. It feels like he has gone numb, like he has slept for too long and his limbs are limp, dead weight.

_(He is cold, like ice, so deathly cold that he wonders if he is dying as well, every one of his heartbeats fading in time with hers, but he doesn't feel a thing.)_

Something had gone wrong during the process, something that he can understand no more than he can comprehend the fact that he's going to lose her, to lose her all over again. He sits right in front of her, almost touching, his pale fur in stark contrast with her dark pelt. The tom can't bring himself to reach out to her, though, not when he knows that his muzzle will only come away stained red as roses, red as rage, red as death.

_(He is pale, like ice, so frigidly pale that red would splash across him as brightly as paint on a canvas, proclaiming to the world that he has tried and failed and lost once more, just as he always has.)_

Only the sound of her fluttery, faltering breathing breaks the silence in the air, a far cry from the laughter and chatter that had filled the air only just that morning. _Has it really only been that long?_ he wonders._ Only that long since he's smiled, since he's laughed, since the idea of losing her to something like this had never even crossed his mind?_ He clears his throat, even that tiny sound explosive in the all-consuming quiet, and when he speaks, his voice is low and unreadable.

_(He is hard, like ice, so carefully hardened against the world and its woes that it is almost like nothing touches him, even when those woes sink their claws into his heart and twist until he is bled dry.)_

"The kit is healthy. There's only one, a she-kit. Black fur like yours, or so Mackerel tells me. She says that she's beautiful." He lifts his head, scarred-clouded eyes squinted as if he can make them work just one more time after so many moons, just to see her face one more time. "I wish I could see her. I wish you could see her. You would love her." He falls silent, finally out of words after so many years of talking his way in and out of everything. Their last conversation hangs over their heads, the silly, stupid, stardamned argument that he should have never let happen.

_"For StarClan's sake, I hate you sometimes!"_

_ "Well, I hate you too, _Maelstrom_!"_

_ ((He is transparent, like ice, so completely transparent, if one just knows where to look, and so was she; the look of pain at that old name, at all of the old memories it pulled back to the surface, had been plain as day is his face and hers.))_

Her breathing hitches, stops completely for a moment, only to return to its faint, ragged gasps heartbeats later. When she begins to breathe again, he allows himself to do the same. "I love you," he begins, and the words begin to tumble out, syllables stumbling over each other as he tries to say all that he's thought, all that he's felt, all that he's said and never said since dark fur and green eyes, since a bright smile and the loveliest laugh he's ever heard, since _hello, my name's Shadypaw; you're Sleetkit, right?_

"I love you. I love you so much. StarClan above, please, just remember that. As long as the east stands across from the west, until the stars fall down and the sun burns out, I love you. I always have, always will, even from the very first moment. I'm sorry, Shadypaw, I'm so sorry that I've been such an idiot. I've hurt you so much. I've lied to you, and I've hurt your feelings, and- Shadypaw, I don't hate you. I'm stupid, and I'm sorry, and I wish I could take it back with all of my heart."

_(He is sharp, like ice, so painfully sharp, all broken edges and serrated points so keenly honed that he doesn't mean to cut, to rip, to tear; it is always those he loves most that he ends up hurting, and as long as he lives, he will never understand how they simply patch over the scrapes and stay by his side.)_

His breathing is as ragged as hers now, panicked and raspy at the thought that he won't be able to say all it in time, to say all of the words to couldn't say before and would never get a chance at saying after this moment. "I'll look after our daughter, Shadypaw, I swear. She'll never know pain or hunger. I'll never let anything hurt her, I swear on my life." His head drops, proud form bent and broken, the fallen god brought low. He presses his muzzle to her side, ignoring the blood he feels seeping into his fur.

"I can't do this without you, Shadypaw, but I'll try. I don't want you to hurt anymore, and I know you've got a place in StarClan. I swear I'll find you one day, when I'm gone. I'll always find you." His voice breaks, and he buries his face in her fur. "Not even the stars can keep me from loving you."

_(He is fragile, like ice, so very fragile that each word is like teeth crunching mice bones; he doesn't want to give her up, to lose her after fighting so hard to give her back, but she's hurting, and he won't hurt her anymore.)_

Silence consumes the air once more, her breathing too faint for him to hear any longer. He feels her muzzle brush against his own. "I know," she murmurs.

She is still, and cold. Like ice.

_((He is broken, like ice, so jaggedly, utterly broken as the piece that had once made him whole is ripped away.))_

He hears Shackle padding in to tell him that his daughter, his Shade, is awake. Sleetpaw turns to meet him.


	4. Chapter 4

_Once upon a time, there was a she-cat who deserved all the love that the world had to offer. She never knew it, and found only hate and heartache._

They were not, Shackle thought, the kind found in stories with happy endings.

He visited the kits sometimes, when the barn had gone dark and quiet for the evening. Enough moonlight shined through the hayloft's window for them to continue playing, and they did, running and cavorting until they were all but pushed into their nests by an exhausted Rose or Alifair. Miss Jaci's kits had grown tremendously, shooting up like weeds until they could nearly match the older three step for step. The bigger of the toms was a mirror image of Jenner, all that reckless youth passed down into another generation, and one of the little she-kits—Audrey, he thought, but wasn't positive; he tried to keep his distance—was her mother made over.

The smallest daughter had green eyes, and it was difficult for him to look at her sometimes.

A mouse hung from his jaws as the gray tom began the climb up the ladder. His shoulders screamed their protests; the pain had been worse since the battle, but it was nothing that he couldn't handle, nothing that he hadn't handled before. Shackle could hear tiny voices emanating from the loft, and he threw a quick glance over his shoulder to see Alifair and Twister asleep in their nests. The moon was already high in the sky, its pale light seeping through cracks in the barn's old roof, and it was far past the children's bedtime.

He lifted himself to solid ground, the firm floor of the loft more than welcome after climbing up the rickety ladder. The dark-furred tom approached the sound of the voices, moving towards the light streaming in through the window, and the sight illuminated by the pale grow stopped him short.

Rose slept peacefully in her nest, white face buried in the hay as kits played on. The older litter had gone to sleep as well, bodies sprawled across the hay-covered floor, as if they had fallen asleep in the middle of playing. It was the younger group that caught Shackle's eye, though, Miss Jaci's sons and daughters.

"Hush, now, or you won't get to hear the rest of the story."

Three of the four were crowded around Mackerel, the small she-cat's fur bleached paler still by the moonlight. Ellie and Audrey, always so quiet, so unlike their parents, were already silent, tucked into the curve of Mackerel's belly and looking up with expectant eyes. The smaller of the brown tabbies had nestled against Mackerel's chest, dark fur contrasting starkly with her pallor. The last of them sprang out of the hay, tackling the silver tabby's side and crawling up onto her back to tug at her ear. Her laughter, a light, musical thing that Shackle wasn't sure he's heard before, fills the air, and she shook him off gently. "Come on, Conall, don't you want to hear the rest?" She licked the top of his head as he curled up beside his sisters, her amber eyes glowing.

This was what happiness looks like, Shackle knew, and he would have sold his soul a thousand times over for her to have that kind of contented glow for the rest of her life.

The gray tom couldn't bring himself to disturb them; his paws felt as if they were made of stone, unwilling to advance any further and destroy the bliss of the moment. He moved to return to the ground floor, and the dry straw crackled loudly underneath his paws.

"Shackle?"

He winced and looked up to see Mackerel staring at him, amber eyes surprised. "Good evening, Mackerel," he rumbled, sitting aside the bit of fresh-kill so he could speak without being muffled. "I was just, ah—"

His explanation was mercifully cut off by one of the toms—_Conall_, he thought, _that one is Conall_. "Did you bring any food, Uncle Shackle?" he asked, hopping to his paws. Yellow eyes gleamed as the tiny tabby spotted the mouse, and he rushed over. "This is even bigger than the last one!" Dipping his head in a quick nod of thanks, Conall hustled back over to the other cats.

"...Uncle Shackle?" Mackerel repeated, looking faintly bemused.

"Uncle Shackle visits us sometimes, Mama Mack," the other tom said softly. _Seisal_, Shackle remembered. "After Mama Rose has already gone to bed. He'll bring us snacks. Not sparrows, though, 'cause I told him that I don't like to eat birds." The kitten offered him a small smile, and Shackle returned it to the best of his ability.

The silver tabby's eyes were wide, and when she looked up at him, that warm, happy glow had returned. "Well, then, why don't you all thank Uncle Shackle for catching you the mouse?" She smiled, and the gray tom felt as if he had stepped into a sunbeam.

A chorus of gratitude filled the air, even the little she-kits nodding their heads. "Will you stay for the rest of the story, Uncle Shackle?" Conall asked. "Mama Mack tells the best ones, even better than Aunt Ali."

Shackle hesitated. "As long as it is fine with you, Mackerel."

"Of course," the silvery she-cat replied, stunned but still smiling. She gestured to the spot next to her in the hay, and he reluctantly padded over. Careful not to crowd her or the kits, he sat down beside her, curling his thick tail around dark paws that still ached from training with Maelstrom that morning.

"Now, let's see, where were we? Oh, right, the fox and the rabbit. Now, like I said, the fox is one of the craftiest, most wicked creatures in the entire forest, and this particular fox was the worst of them all. The fox happened upon a young rabbit one night while hunting..." Mackerel's soft voice lulled the kits into a quiet, her words seeming to bring the characters to life before their eyes. Shackle glanced down in surprise as he felt a small, warm weight press against his side, and he looked down to see Ellie nestled into his thick fur, fast asleep.

Slowly, carefully, Shackle lowered his head onto his paws and closed his eyes, letting the moonlight and Mackerel's voice send him to sleep as well. He felt her pelt brush against his once the story was finished and she laid down for the night as well, but he couldn't bring himself to mind.

_Once upon a time, there was a mother who loved her children more than anything. They never had the chance to open their eyes._

Whenever Twister approached him, he wasn't entirely sure of what to expect.

He understood the other cats in the barn. He and Maelstrom were partners, friends, family. He counted Alifair among his friends, and Rose and both litters of kits—_although they're hardly kits anymore, are they?_—among those to be protected. Mackerel was his friend as well, part of his family just as Maelstrom is. Only the mottled she-cat remained standoffish, staying close to Mackerel or the kits or the other she-cats; anyone but him.

He didn't notice her at first, not as he watched the others in the barn go about their business. Maelstrom was practicing his hunting, crouching tensed and motionless in the straw until the telltale rustle of paws underneath the hay reached his ears. Mackerel was gone hunting, as was Alifair and Rose, and the dying light of the sunset had him glancing anxiously towards the entrance. Conall and the older litter left a trail of wreckage behind them as they played Fox and Rabbit; Seisal had taken to his usual roost in the rafters, and every now and then, he could catch a glimpse of amber eyes above him. Ellie remained curled into his side, silent and motionless but for the occasional unintelligible sleep-murmur, and as her favorite uncle was busy, Audrey had joined her.

They were a peaceful lot, the cats of the red barn, and it astounded Shackle every day that this was his life now.

"You're watching the kits because she asked you to." The she-cat was always quiet, and the gray tom looked up in surprise as she sat down beside him, seeming to have appeared out of thin air. The mottled loner wrapped her tail around her paws, amber eyes on the kits even as she addressed him. "That _is_ the reason you're watching them, isn't it?"

Shackle nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. He and Twister had only exchanged a few words in passing, and he could only imagine why she was initiating a conversation now. "Yes, she and the other she-cats wished to go hunting," he replied. "They needed someone to watch them, and Maelstrom..." His gaze flickered momentarily to his blind friend, the pale tom creeping silently through the straw, something finally having caught his attention.

Twister nodded quietly, expression pensive. Shackle felt a prickle of apprehension, but quickly brushed it away. She could hardly hurt him, and even if it was possible, she wouldn't try anything. Not here, not with the kits so near.

"I...I've come to apologize." He looked up sharply, but her face was still turned away from him as she watched the kits. "I haven't been fair to you. You've tried to extend an olive branch before, and all I've done is knock it out of your paws. I didn't trust you. Sometimes, I still don't, but I'm learning." She looked at him then, and the intensity of her expression caught him off-guard. "How much has Mackerel told you?"

Of all the questions she could have asked, that was far and away the one that he hadn't expected. The mottled she-cat looked up at him, and he barely caught the shudder that ran its course through her lanky frame. Something clicked, and finally, _finally_, it all made sense. Twister never looked him in the eye like this, only ever stuck close to the other she-cats, was so protective of the kits and Mackerel, always fragile, tragic, sweet Mackerel...

She lifted her chin, daring him to say something, and he wondered how hard it had been to keep that fear in her eyes buried for so long.

"She's told me everything," he rasped, flicking his tail over Audrey and Ellie as a chilly gust of wind invaded the barn. The cool moons had sneaked up on them like a hunter in the night, and the cold moons wouldn't be far behind them. After all that had happened in the last year, he could only hope that these cold moons would be peaceful. "Everything about her family, and what they did to her. What did she tell you?"

"Enough," Twister replied, and her eyes darkened. "That wolf's-bitch should have burned along with her barn. If Mackerel can trust you with _that_, then I think that I can trust you with her."

He frowned, confused, and her eyes widened. "You don't know yet," she murmured. "You have no idea." The mottled loner shook her head slowly and took a deep breath.

"I'm a mother. Did you know that?" Shackle shook his head silently. Somehow, this didn't seem like the time to speak, not the place to ask questions. "I didn't think you would. I haven't told Mackerel, not yet. I was, though. I had a son and a daughter."

"Their...my...the tom who fathered the kits, he...he wasn't kind to me. I didn't want him for a mate, didn't want to bear his children, but I would have loved those children more than anything in the entire world. Make no mistake about that, because I would have. They were all I had to hold onto, all that kept me going when he..." She shook her head, and Shackle would have beaten the tom's head in for the defeated look that flickered over her face.

"He didn't stop hitting me when he found out that I was expecting, so I shouldn't have been so surprised when they were born. They were _perfect_, though, the most beautiful things I had ever seen." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I could have believed that they were sleeping."

"My tom-kit looked like me, mottled, but my little girl...she was silver, like my mother. She was tiny, too, even smaller than Jaci's kits were when they were born." Amber eyes searched his face intently. "Do you understand?"

What could he say to that, really? Once, Shackle had believed his past to be the greatest of all evils, but at every turn, the cats he called his family proved him wrong. _First Mackerel, and now Twister. _"I...I think so."

Twister nodded. "Good. She'll be safe with you, I think, and that's all that I want." She opened her mouth to say something more, but her head whipped around at the sound of cats entering. The three she-cats padded inside, a rabbit hanging from Rose's jaws. Twister was already on her paws as he moved to stand, padding over to the hunting party.

"Nice catch," she meowed to Mackerel, gesturing to Rose's rabbit. "That should be enough to feed all of us tonight. "Now, get in here and warm up, all of you; it's freezing out there."

Mackerel smiled. "What have you been up to since we left?" she meowed, padding towards the back of the barn where their nests lay.

"Oh, I've just watched the kits with Shackle," she replied, and both Mackerel's eyebrows and his own jumped up. Mackerel looked over and smiled at him, that warm, infectious smile like warm-moons' sun that he couldn't help but return.

He watched as Twister leaned over and licked the she-cat's cheek, startling Mackerel. "What was that for?" she asked curiously.

"Nothing. Just glad that you're back, that's all."

_She may have birthed two kits, but she has three, really. And she trusts me to look after her daughter, the only one she has left._ The thought sent warmth coursing through him, the kind of warmth that no ice or snow in the world could smother.

_ I won't let her down._

Even as the other cats wrangled Maelstrom and the kits for mealtime, Shackle hung back, content to watch mother and daughter together. Finally, at the others' insistence, he approached. He caught the slightest smile from the mottled loner as he sat down beside Mackerel, waiting his turn as the rabbit was passed around the group. After a moment, he felt the silver tabby's fur brush his.

He didn't move away, and even the howling winds outside couldn't have stolen the warmth that curled over him.

_Once upon a time, there was a tom who would haven given his lover the moon and stars. She broke his heart and left him behind, just as everyone else had._

The blind tom's expression was something Shackle had never seen before, a look that transcended the anger and pain his face had worn so often for so long, a look that made reminded him of a lost kit in the forest, still innocent to the worst of the world. "Aren't they beautiful?" Maelstrom murmured.

The kits were so tiny, so very small and fragile; he faintly remembered when Jaci's litter had been this small, but even that seemed eons ago. The newborns had snuggled into their mother's belly fur, one as pale as snow and the other a soft ashen color with stripes like tiny shadows. Daughters, both of them. Shackle had always assumed that any tom that desired kits would want a tom-kit, a son to raise and mold in their own image, but Maelstrom seemed bewitched by the two tiny creatures.

A she-cat had brought him to his knees before, and two new ones had done the same to him all over again.

"Mackerel wanted me to apologize for her not being here, Miss Shadyfern," he rumbled. "She's been feeling ill lately, and she was worried that she would pass her cold along to the children. She plans on visiting with Twister as soon as she is well again."

The dark-furred queen nodded. "They're welcome to stop by any time," she replied, offering Shackle a small, hesitant smile. He nodded, sparing her a faint one of his own. The little medicine cat had warmed up to him in recent moons; she wasn't nearly as comfortable as Maelstrom, but she was trying. It was more than he could have ever expected from her, and he appreciated it more than she knew.

"Of course," Maelstrom agreed, curling his tail around his mate. "All of you, come visit whenever you want to. Once the kits are old enough, we may even bring them out to see you." He leaned down to nuzzle the tiny tabby's head, placing a lick between her ears before straightening back up.

Shackle nodded, although he doubted that the Clan leader would appreciate loners ambling into the nursery at all hours. "I promise that I will pass the message along." He glanced over his shoulder, to the entrance of the den and what lay beyond it. The camp, so different from the one that had been decimated in the forest, was bathed in the fiery red hues of the sunset.

"I had best be off, I think. Mackerel is expecting me back before nightfall, and I don't wish to be late." He dipped his head. "Have a good evening, Miss Shadyfern, Miss Ivykit, Miss Snowkit."

Shadyfern dipped her head with a parting smile, and Maelstrom stood. "I'll walk out with you," he meowed, padding over.

"As you wish." The dark tom nodded, and they walked out of the nursery side by side. It was surreal, almost, to stroll through the Clanner's camp peacefully, unconcerned by the idea of an ambush. Maelstrom seemed completely at ease, nodding in the direction of someone that called his name—his new name, one that still caught Shackle off-guard every time it was spoken in his presence. "Sleetfall!"

"Be with you in a minute, Wrenflight," he replied, and Shackle studied his face for a long moment. It was impossible to match this tom with the gaunt, ragged wraith of seasons past. His pelt was sleek and shiny with health, albeit dusted with more gray than it had been during his darker times, and the tom radiated contentment like the sun.

_ He even smells like a Clanner. He is a Clanner. His mate is here, his children are here, his home is here. Maelstrom—_Sleetfall_—is happy here._

He had wished for his friend's happiness so many times during their partnership that it had almost become a far-off dream, like praying for the sun during the cold moons.

"I don't regret it, you know," Maelstrom meowed softly, so softly that Shackle wonders if he is merely imagining it. "Not a single thing, not even a bit. I wouldn't be here but for what I've done in the past. I've done some bad things in my life, worse than some cats can imagine, and I'm trying to atone for them. But I don't regret it, Shackle. Never."

The dark tom nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied. "Most of the time, neither do I."

Where would he be now, if he had never found an angry kit lost in the woods, resentment cutting him up inside like broken glass? He would have died, surely, without a Master. He would have never known of Maelstrom or Mackerel or the rest of his family, would have never seen his father again and taken vengeance for all of those who couldn't. He would have just been another faceless skeleton in the forest, another life lost without a single cat to mourn its passing.

The path that Fate had led him down had been a dark one, a road that had led him through hell and back out again, but he couldn't bring himself to regret a single step of the way.

They paused at the edge of camp. "Give my regards to Mackerel," Maelstrom meowed, a faint smile curving his lips. "I hope that she gets well soon. Can we expect another visit once she is?"

Shackle nodded. "She can't wait to see the kits; I expect that she'll have us hear again before three dawns have passed."

The pale tom chuckled. "We'll see you then." He stepped forward and nuzzled the gray tom. "Stay safe."

Shackle nodded, resting his muzzle on top of younger cat's head before placing a small lick between his ears. "I will. Have a good evening, sir." He turned and padded into the forest, catching a final glimpse of Maelstrom's white pelt for the night before it was obscured entirely by the trees.

His and Mackerel's den was a modest thing, not very different from a dug-out fox den that they had once shared in the forest with the other members of the group. Nestled into the riverbank, there was just enough room for the two to curl up inside. It was not extravagant, just as they had never been, but it was home.

She was already standing at the entrance, amber eyes only a little duller for her cold. "Twister stopped by this afternoon, not long after you left," she mewed, stepping aside to allow him in. "She brought dinner with her. Have you already eaten?"

"Yes, Maelstrom insisted."

Her whiskers twitched. "I imagined that he would. How are the kits?" She curled up in the nest, wrapping her tail around her paws.

"Two she-kits. One is white, even paler than Maelstrom, and the other is tabby, a light gray. Their names are Snowkit and Ivykit."

Mackerel's eyes widened. "Two daughters?" She shook her head in amazement. "Ivy and Snow...they're good names. I'm happy for them." The silver tabby yawned and curled up tighter in the nest.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. She accused him of fretting worse than an old queen, and perhaps it was true.

"Just tired," she replied. "Come on, it's nearly moonrise." She patted the other half of the nest, and he slowly made his way over, settling down beside her. Her fever had abated the day before, but the silver tabby had always been extraordinarily warm, a ray of sunlight tucked into his side. She nuzzled his cheek, flicking her tail over his back and nestling her face into the hollow between his neck and shoulder.

_ Once upon a time, there was a she-cat who deserved all the love that the world had to offer. She chased away her own monsters and discovered the love she had looked for all her life._

_ Once upon a time, there was a mother who loved her children more than anything. She lost her first kits, but found another daughter that she adored just as fiercely._

_ Once upon a time, there was a tom who would have given his lover the moon and stars. He never stopped loving her, and when he found her again after moons of seperation, the stars were on his side._

_ Once upon a time, there was a servant without family, a cat who did not know what love even looked like. Fate saw that his heart was kind, and led him to all that he deserved._

Shackle closed his eyes, the sound of Mackerel's soft breathing and the quiet rushing of the river outside lullling him to sleep. They were not, Shackle knew, the kind found in stories with happy endings, but one had found them all the same.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: 3K even, oh yes. I can rest happily now. XD**

**Much love to my wonderful beta, Shadesaurus.**

The rain swooped in suddenly as a hawk falling upon the slightest twitch of prey, sheets of the hard, frigid droplets hammering down within moments of the brontide's first rumblings. The humidity that had clung heavy and steadfast to the asphalt splendor of the city for weeks had finally parted, a hint of a silver lining that Alifair sunk her claws into, determined to find something good in the bitter, biting winds that replaced it.

She'd told Charm to go on back to the theatre, that she and the guards would be fine getting back on their own. She'd chosen to ignore the first foreboding flashes in a sky gray as slate, passing it off as heat lightning in the distance. She'd seen no reason to rush back as the initial drops began to drizzle down, soft and hesitant as a kitten's nudge, imagining that a little shower would cool things down a bit.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid_ were the only thoughts left to berate her as she slunk down the streets in the downpour, two hulking guards trailing behind her.

It was ridiculous, the tiny tabby thought, that she was actually shivering smack-dab in the middle of the hot moons. _Completely ridiculous._ The rain water had seeped in through her thin coat with ease, though, and the winds had quickly escalated to something meaner than a cold-moons' gale. Soaked to the bone, all the she-cat could do was stifle another shudder as the theatre loomed ever closer, monstrous shape silhouetted against a rapidly-darkening skyline, and keep trekking on.

Ali held herself taut as a bowstring, claws only half-sheathed as they turned down an alleyway that gleamed wetly, dull as tarnished silver. Something in the city—not her city, never hers—she knew that Raptor and his pack of skulking goons were taking to the streets, seeking a hideaway where they could wait out the impending flooding of the sewers. A laugh that curled in the air like a plume of smoke echoed in the tabby's ears, a memory of moons before, and her jaw clenched.

_ But somewhere_, she reminded herself, _Raptor may be drowning._ Bronze fur turned dark as blood by an unimaginable amount of water came to mind, that damned laugh finally silenced with a scream of terror and the roar of the rushing torrent. The vindictive curve of her lips could almost pass for a smile in the darkness, and it only faded when she and the guards staggered into the theatre's aphotic entryway.

Felsky had, apparently, realized that she needed a bit of a break, as there was no sign of Ivon as they followed the serpentine tunnel into the cavernous audiotorium._ Thank Fel. I don't think I could deal with him right now. My nerves are shot as it is._ There was something almost comforting in the spaciousness of the room and its hundreds of occupants, a reassuring kind of familiarity that she had begun to associate with the theatre. It was an unsettling thought, but for the moment, the small she-cat was too tired to study what that could mean.

The guards dispersed, plodding off to what remained of the fresh-kill piles or to one of the many empty beds. Alifair hesitated before deciding to forgo the prey; visiting the daycare tended to put her off her appetite, and she hadn't been eating much in the last few moons anyways. _No sense in wasting food when I can't finish it all_, she reasoned, slipping into the shadowy stretch of hallway that led up to the box. _Besides, I already ate this morning before I left. I'll be fine._

She felt Bennett before she saw him, a ball of warmth barreling into her with a force that almost knocked the drenched tabby off her paws as she pushed her way through the curtains. A quiet purr escaped the little bobtail as she realized what and who it was, and she swatted her nephew's ear lightly. "No, Ben, don't; I'm soaked to the bone."

If anything, the younger cat only pressed against her harder, a playful gleam in his amber eyes as he looked up at her. "Wasn't sure when you were going to get home," he meowed, taking a step back._ He's nearly as tall as me_, she realized with something like horror when the lanky tabby's muzzle brushed her shoulder as he withdrew. When in Fel's name had _that_ happened?

She only smiled, though, giving a quick roll of her eyes. "I know, I've been spending a lot of time there lately. I'll take the next few days off, though, especially if this weather keeps up." As if to punctuate her sentence, thunder growled balefully in the distance, and the little she-cat chuckled.

The younger tabby nodded, stifling a yawn, and Alifair's eyes narrowed. "Past your bedtime, Ben. Go on." She couldn't hide a grin as the kitten visibly deflated, nodding and dutifully padding towards the back of the room. He was a good kid, still_. Let's hope that it lasts._

"Try to mind the carpet, Miss Alifair."

The little she-cat knew the oil-slick voice well enough by now that she already knew the expression that would be sitting smugly on his face as she turned with a roll of her eyes. Castion, as usual, didn't disappoint, the sleep-ruffled tom's muzzle twisted with a small, crooked smirk.

That look was becoming as familiar as the theatre and the tom himself, but it never stopped her from wanting to smack it off.

A scathing retort sat on the tip of her tongue as Ali opened her mouth to reply, but the she-cat was caught off-guard by the cough that exploded from her throat. Her eyes widened momentarily as she tried to muffle it against a paw, and her withering remark was lost in the midst of her crouping.

An eyebrow quirked, and the golden tom watched her carefully as she gave herself a quick shake. "Getting sick?" The smirk had slipped away, thankfully, although the concern that furrowed his brow as his eyes skated over her sent a strange, almost uncomfortable prickling sensation spidering over her pelt.

"Of course not," she replied, voice a bit raspier than she was used to, undoubtedly left over from the cough. "Just a catch in my throat. I'm fine." The tiny tabby padded to the back of the room, suppressing a shiver as she hopped into the center chair and settled into the well-worn dip of the cushion.

The Sun King snorted. "If you say so." Disbelief colored his tone, and well-meant or not, the comment was enough for to him to receive another half-hearted glare. "You should probably get some rest; it's getting late, and you've been working a lot lately."

The golden tom _did_ have a point there, as much as she hated to admit it. Alifair was exhausted, tired in her bones, and she gave a reluctant nod. The little she-cat curled up in the chair, letting her eyes fall shut. "Good night," she murmured, voice barely audible as she relaxed.

There was a small pause before Castion replied as another small shiver worked its way up the bobtail's spine. "Good night, Alifair," he replied after the heartbeat of silence, and the she-cat paid him no mind as sleep stole her away within the next few moments.

She woke from muddled, green-tinged dreams just before dawn, hacking her lungs out into the blanket wrapped around her.

* * *

She hated this. She hated feeling useless, feeling worthless, feeling helpless. Glazed green eyes could barely manage a glare as she looked up at Castion. "I don't need a healer," Alifair insisted for what felt like the thousandth time, voice a ragged whisper.

"Oh, _obviously_." The tom's voice crackled with irritation, green eyes dark as he looked her over. Any smugness he'd shown when he'd realized that Alifair was indeed sick had been quashed when it became clear that she had more than a little cold; he'd moved quickly to aggravation since.

"I'm the only healer in your territory," she hissed, throat too raw to raise her voice much more. The tabby was shaking, shivers wracking her thin frame as if it was the middle of the cold moons. "Unless you're going to send someone all the way to East City, there's no one but me."

"What about the cats you're training?"

"Half of them don't know the difference between poppy and foxglove seeds. I'd prefer for Bennett to not come home to a corpse." Ali was grateful that he'd gotten Ben out of the theatre for the day, at least, had sent him along with Bottle to spend the day at the park; the last thing she wanted was for either of them to catch whatever she had. Both toms had gone reluctantly even after her assurance that she would be fine, something that set off the tiniest pinprick of warmth through her. _My boys._

"Well, what do you suggest we do, then?" he snapped, voice very close to a growl now. "You're coughing, you're hurting, you're burning up, and you're telling me there's no one that can fix it?" Despite her best efforts, she closed her eyes against the rising voice, head pounding in rhythm to his voice.

The tabby wasn't sure if he had seen the almost-imperceptible cringing, but he abruptly fell silent. After a moment, she opened her eyes once more, focusing on the golden tom with a little difficulty. "Ric's my best student. He's got a brother that works here, a runner. Acy, I think?" She shook her head, unsure. "He lives near Bottle, in a house not far from the apartments. Alaric's his real name. He should be able to help out."

She closed her eyes again, huddling into the blanket before she could see Castion's reaction, desperate to warm up. The golden tom claimed that she had a fever, but Alifair was so _cold_, practically freezing to death. She thought that she could hear pawsteps—maybe guards? other cats coming to report to Cas?—but couldn't be sure, the pounding of her head making it hard to focus on much of anything.

"We're sending someone over now," Castion said softly, golden tones more subdued than she'd heard them in quite a while.

"M'kay," she agreed, murmurs slightly incoherent as she curled up on the ragged cushion she'd moved to that morning. "He'll know what to do. Gonna sleep for a bit." She thought she felt something brush the top of her head, between her ears, but she was already too far gone to open her eyes and see what it was.

* * *

_Pain_.

_ Ali couldn't breathe. Each gasp for air was like a knife in her chest, the pitch-darkness that surrounded her almost suffocating. And she_ hurt,_ Fel above and below, she hurt. She was burning, she knew she was, flames licking at every inch of her while she remained frozen, paralyzed, unable to fight back or run away._

So why am I so cold?

_ Voices murmured in her ears, ceaseless mumbling too twisted and distant for her to comprehend, reduced to hisses and crackling like a far-off storm._ Please help please help please help please—

_The knife plunged into her stomach, an unseen assailant hiding in the dark as he ripped her in two, and she promised herself that she would not scream._

_ She writhed and lashed out with thorn-sharp claws, limbs heavy as stone, too heavy to run away from the fire or the knife or the cold_ so damn cold even while I'm burning why? _The voices rose, an oncoming storm, and she slashed at them too, blind in the shadows but not helpless _never helpless never again.

I will not scream, _she thought over and over again, a mantra set to the beat of her pounding head, her pounding heart, the roar of the voices and the crackling of the flames._ I will not scream I will not scream I will not—

So cold so fucking cold please just make it stop—

I will not scream.

_Fire inside of her, licking at her lungs, setting her ablaze from the inside out with flames as bright as blood—_

I will not scream.

_Voices snarling loud as thunder, rattling around her brain, drowning her in sound in the impenetrable dark as she thrashed helplessly against an enemy she couldn't see—_

I'm going to die before I scream.

_ Something tearing into her belly like a vulture into a rotting carcass, ripping through her entrails with knife-sharp claws and a kitlike glee, disemboweling her as the fire burned the broken body to ash—_

I'm going to die.

_Laughter like a panther's shriek curling in the air, insatiable, unending, undoubtedly mad as she writhed in pain—_

Please just let me die already.

_Something brushed her pelt, and she flinched away with a feeble, mangled hiss, unable to do much else. She was tired of fighting, so very tired, exhausted down to her bones. _

_The something was insistent, though, a pelt hidden by the shadows brushing hers, and she started as warmth, real_ warmth,_ washed over her, chasing away the malicious bite of the cold. _

I'm so tired of being cold.

_Even its scent was reassuring, something almost familiar that she couldn't place, and as she bit back another scream when the invisible claws tore into her once more, the pelt pressed against hers, warm, steady,_ real.

I'm so tired of fighting by myself.

_When the flames consumed her once more and the pelt pressed against hers, she pressed back, clinging to it like a lifeline as she rode out the raging storm._

* * *

When Alifair woke, wide amber eyes and the patter of raindrops were there to greet her.

She blinked groggily, a wave of dizziness crashing over her as she attempted to lift her head. Deciding against it as the vertigo speckled her vision with black dots, the tiny tabby rested her head against her paws once more, snuggling into the warmth encircling her while she tried to focus on the foxy face that swam in front of her. "Ric?" she meowed, voice cracking like a growing tom-kit's.

"The one and only." The ginger tom's cocky slip of a smile seemed twice as sincere, even with the darkness in his eyes. "How're you feeling, love?"

"Tired," she murmured. "Achey."

He chuckled. "I figured as much. Gave us quite a scare, darling, thrashing around like that. You were giving 'em hell, that's for sure; I had to bind you up once you'd calmed down a bit, in case you got started again and tried to hurt yourself."

Her brow crinkled at that, but a glance down at her paws gave her an explanation; her paws had been wrapped with cobwebs, so tightly that she couldn't extend her claws. The burst of quiet laughter hurt, but it was more than worth it.

"I appreciate it, Ric, I really do," she whispered. Something shifted against her, and the she-cat turned her head to look as best as she could. A glimpse of gold was enough for her to fit the pieces together, her unexpected warmth and her steadfast companion in the nightmares, and the little she-cat was glad for her dark fur as she flushed.

"No problem, love. Here, before you go back to sleep, eat this." The feverfew seemed almost obnoxiously bright as he pushed it towards her, and her stomach turned at the thought of trying to keep something down, but Alifair dutifully swallowed the bundle of leaves with a grimace.

Ric chuckled. "There we go. That should break the fever, and after that, it's all smooth sailing."

Ali nodded, eyes flickering back to the little of Castion she could see from her place, pressed against his side as she was. Half-dreamed voices came to mind, hissing and snapping like flashes of lightning cracking the sky in two. "I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

She almost laughed again as the ginger tom blanched underneath his neatly-groomed fur. "No, he was just...very concerned."

_I can only imagine_, she thought, a wry smile playing with the corners of her mouth. "I'm sure. I think we're gonna be okay from here, Ric; you can head back home if you want."

The younger tom was almost too eager to hop to his paws. "See you later, love. Don't go getting sick on me like this again." There was another flash of that lazily likeable smile, and he was gone, darting out of the box.

A small, sleepy smile flickered over Alifair face as he left, a look that turned thoughtful when her eyes inevitably flitted back to the Sun King. _Always a surprise, Castion._ To say that she had a lot to think about now would be an understatement, but the she-cat's expression softened into something almost peaceful. She had all the time in the world to worry over it.

After a moment of pause, the little she-cat closed her eyes, tucking her head against Castion's chest almost hesitantly as she allowed the warmth to wash over her once more. _Baby steps._

Sleep's enticing hand swept her up once more within a few moments, and the she-cat made no attempts to resist, body and mind both too exhausted. She dreamed, but the sound of the storm and the Sun King's heartbeat held the darkness at bay.


End file.
